Brainstorms
by MizHyde
Summary: Some songfic prompts that I'm thinking of turning into something more. Review if you think you would read any of them.
1. Unravelling

**Author's Note: **This is just a series of prompts that I used songs for (hence why they're songfics). I'm leaving this in the reviewer's hands. I want to hear who would read what if it were more than a one shot or if something should stay a one shot, etc. Or if anybody's been inspired to write something based on these. If that's the case, I want to know so I can read them. Think of this as something like a _Cyber Sunday_. Readers decide!

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**Song: **Unravelling **Artist: **Sevendust **Album**: Cold Day Memory (2010) **Composer: **L. Witherspoon, C. Lowery, M. Rose, V. Hornsby, J. Connelly

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It was a beautiful afternoon in Parma, Ohio. The sun shone high in the sky, unobstructed by the cream puff clouds. A line of teenagers, adults and children were lined up down the block, chattering wildly with excitement. It created something of a buzz in the sticky summer heat. Some of them had been waiting before the sun had even come up, excited to catch a glimpse of their hometown boy.

At twelve noon, a sleek black limousine pulled up on the street. The breaths of the people on the sidewalk caught in their throats as the car door opened. He stepped out, dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and baby blue tie, the WWE Championship rested over his shoulder. The crowd collectively cheered and applauded their hometown boy.

Mike Mizanin took a few moments to take it all in. He lived in Los Angeles, California these days, with his girlfriend Maryse. She had to be one of the hottest women he had ever seen. Bleached blonde, glamour model, _Playboy_ model. Life was good. His blue eyes scanned the line of people down the street. No matter how many autograph signings he did, it always surprised him that so many people turned up for _him_. It was difficult not to feel his ego inflate just a little bit.

He was doing an autograph signing at _The Rock Shop, _one of the last remaining record stores in the area. When he had been in high school, he had practically lived at the store. He was terrified to even attempt to calculate how much money he spent in the store growing up. Standing in front of the newly renovated store, with it's red awning and white bricked walls, Mike "The Miz" Mizanin truly felt like he had come full circle.

_**I need an answer, some way to understand**_

_**You're still so convincing, and a little out of hand**_

_**So tell me one thing, who gave you all those scars?**_

_**That took away your innocence**_

_**You push away with everything you are**_

She was a beautiful woman of thirty-one, with sandy blonde hair and green eyes that could pierce the coldest human being. The new owner of _The Rock Shop_, she wasn't about to let her teenage hangout become a thing of the past, even if record labels were threatening to stop putting out discs. Over the past year that she had owned the store, she had taken up filling the store with music merchandise as well, everything from hooded sweatshirts to posters to even puzzles.

The table was ready for the autograph signing. It was a long, sleek dark wood table with a comfortable padded chair. That was the only demand he had made, and since it was so reasonable, she obliged. Though she really shouldn't have.

It had been years since she had seen him. Back in the day, they had been inseparable. They were both good students, worked on every project they could together, and even were on their high school yearbook. She had graduated valedictorian, went onto college and became a fairly successful businesswoman. When _The Rock Shop_ had gone on the block, she decided to take over, knowing that she couldn't let her favourite hangout die. Mike, on the other hand, had moved to California, become a reality TV star. She hadn't watched anything he was on; he had hurt her too deeply. Even knowing that he was coming in, as good as it was for business to have a hometown boy signing autographs, made her eye twitch and her nerves sing.

_**I can't take this anymore**_

Mike entered the store. It looked pretty different. It wasn't just a record store anymore. At the back there was a giant poster area, along with racks upon racks of T-shirts and hooded sweatshirts. His eyes scanned the store. The walls had since been painted a deep red, the floors an elegant hardwood. Posters of the Misfits, the Runaways, The Plasmatics and Journey were long gone, replaced by posters of Sevendust, Metallica, Dethklok and NOFX.

His jaw dropped when he saw her come out of the back office. She looked pretty much the same as she had after high school, save for an extra five pounds and a more modern haircut. "You're the owner now?" he asked. He felt awkward, unsure of whether or not he should shake her hand or hug her.

"Yeah. AJ came down with Alzheimer's a year ago, and his son didn't want the place. He was going to sell it. I decided I couldn't let this place die, so I bought it." Mike felt thankful that she had purchased the place. These days it was getting harder and harder to buy music, thanks to the invention of the download. "We set up your table here at the front of the store." She motioned lamely to the table. Mike nodded.

"Hey, throwing this out there, but after the autograph signing, why don't we go get a coffee or something and catch up?" Something flashed in her eyes. She definitely still remembered everything that had happened between them, he realized. Awkward.

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

_**I'm tired of breaking…I'm tired of faking**_

The autograph signing went without a hitch. A few people he recognized. There were a few friends from high school who invited him out to some reunion barbeque later on. He agreed to go, considering he had the week off to visit with his parents and see the sights. It was something WWE cameras wanted to document for the three-disc DVD set that they were planning on making for him.

She had disappeared into the office for the entire signing, sending only lower-level employees, teenagers cracking gum and wearing lanyards around their necks, to see if he needed anything. The only thing he requested during the entire session was a glass of water.

When the last person had left, the store was at closing time. His left hand was cramped from all of the autographs. His eyes still were edged with white from the flash of all the digital cameras, some of them way too close for comfort. The biggest laugh of the afternoon was when an old high school friend had brought his graduating yearbook to be signed. Mike had done so, slapped hands with the kid and taken a picture. He couldn't remember the last time he had had so much fun at an autograph signing. Then again, he was home. People knew him.

_**I want the world to see, you sold a broken dream**_

_**You were not there for me, I was unravelling**_

_**All that we never knew, that could have been me and you**_

_**But you took everything**_

_**Now we're just here unravelling**_

The other employees left, leaving Mike alone in the store with her. She wondered why he hadn't hopped into his limo and headed back to the airport yet. Emerging from her office, she found him leaned against the table, drinking his water, watching her slide on her leather jacket. "Is that the same leather jacket you had in high school?" he asked incredulously.

"It still fits."

"I know. That's awesome."

"What are you still doing here, Mike?"

"I wanted to see if you re-thought your stance on the coffee."

"I haven't. Thanks, though. Store's closed, I'm heading home. You should probably get going; you probably have to catch the next flight out, hey?"

"No. I'm here for the week. Get to see the family and WWE wants to document the rise of the Miz." She smirked. He was one of the biggest things to come out of this town, if not the biggest thing. It was hard to not be proud of his accomplishments, but she was unsure of her feelings. After so many years, she didn't think things would still be so difficult.

"That's nice. Come on; I want to go home." She went to the back exit to make sure it was locked up tight. Mike followed her.

"What brought you back here? I thought you were going to leave for Cleveland when I left."

"Dad got sick, so I didn't go."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"He's fine now." Her father had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. But she wasn't about to tell Mike that. He followed her to the front door.

_**So here we are now, break what's already broken**_

_**I guess I could have seen this coming if you'd been around**_

_**Let's tear the past wide open**_

"Well, have fun this week," she said, setting the alarm. They would have a one minute interval to get out of the store before the alarm was completely activated. She unlatched the front door and opened it up, practically shoving Mike outside. He watched as she locked up the store. "Do you have to watch me do everything?" she asked hotly.

"I'm sorry about how things went down before I left," he said sheepishly. "I didn't realize you were still going to hate me after all these years."

"I don't hate you," she informed him, "I just don't like you very much. Have a good week. Welcome home, _Mike_." With a deep sigh, running his hand through her hair, he watched her walk away to her car parked at the end of the block. She was still driving the old 1986 Toyota that she had bought in high school. It surprised him how little she had changed, and how seeing her again stirred up old feelings and regrets about things.

_**I can't take this anymore**_

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she entered, kicking off her pumps and closing the door, locking it behind her. The entire way home she had been shaking. Of course, she had known he was coming; WWE personnel had called her and informed her that he was coming to sign autographs at her store. She had thought that she would be okay, and anyway, it was good for business. But seeing him again had given her the shakes.

It was a tiny apartment she lived in, a one bedroom, one bathroom place with furniture that her mother had given her from her deceased grandmother. The walls were high, white, the carpet a soft grey. Photos from high school were all over the walls, but not a single shot of Mike. Those photos sat in a box somewhere in her mother's attic, collecting dust. She didn't have the heart to rip or burn them; she wasn't that kind of a person.

He still looked good. A hell of a lot more muscular now than he had been in high school. They'd been inseparable nerds, embracing the ridiculous and the stupid. She practically lived at his house every weekend, where they would eat popcorn and watch horrible movies. Mike never could understand how she enjoyed movies that were so terrible so much, but her sense of humour was twisted.

Her cat Summer rubbed up against her leg, mewing and purring. She leaned down and picked up the kitty, petting her, nuzzling her head against the kitty's soft grey fur. "Oh, Summer, you would not believe the day I had," she said. Walking into the kitchen, she put on the kettle for tea and took a look for some kind of a snack. She needed to go shopping, but decided it could wait another day. Settling on a peanut butter and chocolate granola bar, she put down the cat, unwrapped it and bit into it before scouring the fridge or freezer for something for dinner. She settled on TV dinner with Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and corn. "God, my life is pathetic," she said to herself, turning on the oven.

_**I'm tired of breaking…I'm tired of faking**_

The limousine dropped him off at his dad's house. George Mizanin grinned as his son barrelled down the driveway, his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Mikey! How was the signing?"

"Great. You would not believe who I saw at the store."

"I know who you saw."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was big news when she bought _The Rock Shop_, Mike." Mike followed his dad into the house, kicking off his shoes and dropping his duffel bag in the main hallway.

"If it was such big news, how come you didn't tell me?"

"I don't know. I figured since things had gotten so strained between the two of you that you didn't care, really. You hungry?" Mike nodded, following his dad into the kitchen. "So, you saw her, huh? Still looks good, doesn't she? I can't believe she hasn't found somebody yet."

"She's still single?"

"Yeah. Too ambitious, probably. It takes a lot to keep that store open. With the way music's been going, she's taken to jamming the store with merchandise to keep it afloat."

"Is the store in trouble?"

"No, not really. It's still one of the most popular places here." Mike sat down on the stool in front of the island counter. She had kept the store open to keep her memories alive. Most of those memories he had been involved with. He was unsure how he was supposed to feel about that. "How was she?"

"She hates me."

"Are you surprised?"

"Kind of. It's been a long time. How long can a woman hold a grudge for?"

"The rest of her life if she has to. Just ask your mother." Mike laughed, hanging his head in his hands. "Are you planning to see her again this week?"

"Hopefully. She doesn't want anything to do with me, but it'd be nice to make it right before I had to leave again." He nodded. The problems that had stemmed between them had most definitely been Mike's fault. He had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. Even if he wanted to make it right in the week, he wasn't sure he could. "Do you regret what you did?"

"Yeah. Totally."

"How's Maryse?"

"She's good. Getting ready to launch some kind of a fashion line. We don't see each other much these days. She wants to do some more _Playboy_, too."

"That bothers you?"

"A little bit, I guess. Would it have bothered you if Mom did that?"

"Fair point." George grabbed cans of beer for himself and Mike, handing one to his son. Mike popped the top and took a sip. He wondered if he should even try or if he should stay away from her for the rest of the week. She was making it pretty clear that water was not underneath the bridge.

_**I want the world to see, you sold a broken dream**_

_**You were not there for me, I was unravelling**_

_**All that we never knew, that could have been me and you**_

_**But you took everything**_

_**Now we're just here unravelling**_


	2. Spellbound

**Song: **Spellbound **Artist: **Lacuna Coil **Album: **Shallow Life (2009) ** Composer: **Lacuna Coil, D. Gilmore

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><p><em><strong>Burning here, in my room, feeling that the walls are moving closer<strong>_

_**Sight unseen, the dark takes me, leads me to the ending of another day**_

_**I'm haunted**_

Sheamus O'Shaunessey, Irish Gigolo.

That's how he was feeling these days, since his good buddy Wade Barrett decided that he needed to settle down with somebody. With both his friends Wade and Drew finding love in the United States, they had both been putting pressure on Sheamus to find somebody. It wasn't that he was being picky, or even a holdout. He was just too busy; he couldn't figure out how Drew and Wade maintained anything.

Wade had tried setting him up with Natalya. What a psycho. Not only that, but what kind of a date was working out? He didn't want to get to know a woman in the gym, he wanted to take her out for dinner. Plus, she'd had Beth Phoenix with her the entire time, giving him the stink-eye while she worked the lateral press. It had really just been awful. Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre didn't know a damn thing about being any sort of Love Connection, and Sheamus was finding himself becoming resentful of their constant interference.

He hated the whole dating scene anyway. The date with Layla had been a disaster. She had thrown red wine in his face, and he couldn't get it out of his clothes. She had completely misunderstood what he had said to her. How she misunderstood him had been a mystery to him; all he had asked her was how life in Miami was. Perhaps she was just nuts like Natalya. All the Divas seemed to be nuts. He went to ask Eve Torres out and she kicked his ass. She thought he was some kind of attacker. Last time he asks out a woman who is trained in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

_**Tell me who you are, I am spellbound**_

_**You cannot have this control of me**_

_**Everywhere I go, I am spellbound**_

_**I will break the spell you put on me**_

"How about AJ Lee?" Drew inquired. They were all sitting in a restaurant on New Year's Eve prior to heading to the arena. He popped a ketchup-soaked French fry in his mouth and grinned. Sheamus had the feeling that Drew was amused that Sheamus was having so much trouble finding a woman. Drew and Wade had both found the Eve Torres debacle a lot funnier than he had.

"How about no more Divas?" Sheamus retorted. "They're all just bloody psycho."

"You going to the Christmas masquerade after the show tonight?" Vince McMahon had teamed up with some local charity to put on a Christmas masquerade that would take them pretty much right through until the dawn.

"Yeah. Even though everybody is going to know it's me. I'm going to be the whitest guy there." With a sigh, he bit into his chicken finger. "But it sounds like it could be a lot of fun, and anyway - what else do I have to do tonight besides pack for the next show? Are you guys going?"

"Oh, you'd better believe it. We picked up our stuff last week," Wade replied. Sheamus felt just a touch insulted that he hadn't been invited to go. Instead, he had been on a date with Melina. He wasn't even going to _begin_ talking about what had gone wrong on that date…

"Have you picked up something for it, Sheamus?"

"No, but I'm sure I can head out after my match for it. Don't I need a mask or something?"

"Yeah. Nobody's supposed to see your face."

"Doesn't make a difference - everybody will still know who I am," he retorted, though he knew the rules of a masquerade. Drew was going with Kaitlyn. He seemed to have a thing for blondes, Sheamus noted, but he questioned Drew getting involved with another Diva, especially since he was sure they were all psycho. Wade was dating some backstage tech. They were all going together. Sheamus was the proverbial fifth wheel. It was hard to get happy about that.

_**Velvet drapes, glowing candles, silent whispers of words inside of my head**_

_**The night time comes, it waits for me, leads me to the ending of another day**_

_**I'm haunted**_

The masquerade took place at the top of a high hill, in a mansion of some millionaire that Vince was in good with. Sheamus had to admit that the place was beautifully decorated, with silken gold walls and velvet burgundy drapes over the high, elegant windows. People were gathered around in the foyer, where there was a two-sided staircase that led into one, ending at the beautiful and fresh waxed hardwood floor.

He felt ridiculous. His mask looked lame. Last time he ever let Wade and Drew pick stuff out for him. Sometimes he had the feeling that his friends were purposely sabotaging him. He spotted a big muscular grey-haired man in a stupid feathered mask. Vince. A few people he could tell, several others not so much. He spotted Alicia Fox talking to who he presumed was the Bella Twins. Brie had been the craziest date he had ever been on; Nikki had wanted in on it, too. He was definitely not comfortable with that. For years he had heard that marrying inside the business was easy; he wondered if it was really true these days. The women seemed to be crazier than a three ringed circus.

It had been around eleven thirty when he arrived, heading straight from _SmackDown_. There were a few people, like Randy Orton, Daniel Bryan and Michael Cole who hadn't bothered coming to the masquerade. No way could Sheamus see Randy Orton as ridiculously dressed as everybody else in the room. He could hardly believe that he had been roped into it. The tights were a real pain in the ass. He'd have to get Drew back at the next set of tapings.

_**Tell me who you are, I am spellbound**_

_**You cannot have this control of me**_

_**Everywhere I go, I am spellbound**_

_**I will break the spell you put on me**_

Upstairs, her friend put her foot to her spine and pulled the corset just an inch tighter. "Okay, enough! I still need to breathe!" she wheezed. Her friend loosened it up just a little bit, then tied it at the base of her spine before helping her into her dress.

Her dress was stunning, off the shoulder with a red ruffle around the shoulders and a black torso. The skirt was layered and rainbow coloured, elegantly designed and silky. Underneath she wore black ballet slippers to save her feet from the horror of high heels. She looked quite the stunning, gothic-gypsy image. Her hair was piled high on top of her head in beautiful curled ringlets cascading like a waterfall down her back. She slid on her black gloves, all the way up to the elbow.

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thanks." She gave herself a once-over in the dress. The skirt was beautiful and billowing, just the way she liked it. Her friend tied the mask on underneath her hair and she applied some classic, ruby red lipstick to her lips. With the smoky eyes, beautiful gypsy dress, the elegant mask and red lips, she knew that she looked the part of a mystery princess.

She was the entire reason this charity event was even happening. The entire day she had spent cleaning her uncle's house, talking to the DJ, the caterers. She had booked everything. Having the WWE involved in the event would only spell good press for everybody as well, as a big organization was taking the time to recognize their cause.

_**Break the spell**_

At eleven forty-five he saw her come down the stairs. She was an absolute vision, with a tiny waist and fair skin. Beauty just resonated from her as she slowly made her way down the front set of stairs, down to the floor. People were constantly touching and reaching for her, talking to her. Her laughter rang in his ears, soft peals, like the sound of an angel. He wondered who she was; he couldn't tell, but he had the feeling she wasn't a Diva, and for that, he was thankful.

He thought about approaching her, but he wondered if she would give him the time of day. Before he could hesitate any further, she approached. "Would you care for a dance?"

"Yeah. Sure thing." The song changed and they went into the middle of the floor.

"I can tell you're really excited to be here," she observed sarcastically. He laughed.

"It's been a really long few weeks," he confessed.

"Tell me about it. You wouldn't believe how much work it took to put all of this stuff together."

"You're behind this? It's lovely."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Her eyes went to the velvet drapes. "I wanted to really give it this bright, spellbinding appeal. Make it something special for New Year's."

"The candelabras are a great touch," he observed, dipping her. She giggled as he brought her up.

"I don't think anybody's ever done that to me before."

"Dipped you?"

"_Si_." They laughed. She felt nice and snug in his big arms. Several feet away, somebody winked at him - he could have sworn that it was Wade, but his black hair was styled differently.

_**Tell me who you are, I am spellbound**_

_**You cannot have this control of me**_

_**Everywhere I go, I am spellbound**_

_**I will break the spell you put on me**_

"_Ten…nine…eight…"_

They were still standing together, her arms wrapped around his neck, playing with the base of his fiery red hair. The music had been stopped for the interim while the DJ counted them down to midnight. At the top of the stage, her uncle stood with Vince and Linda McMahon, who was making a stop at the masquerade with her husband and in hopes of gaining some kind of political leverage in her next bid for the Connecticut senate.

"_Seven…six…"_

Everybody was chanting raucously. Sheamus could see that a few of the wrestlers and a few of the Divas were tipsy off of the white wine that seemed to be flowing like unlimited waterfalls all night long. After the countdown, she was looking forward to a well-deserved glass. She was surprised how his hands around her waist felt so right.

"_Five…four…_"

"Who are you?" he whispered. She smirked, putting a gloved finger to his lips.

"You're not supposed to know…that's the beauty of a masquerade," she whispered. Her eyes were beautiful, deep, her lips soft, lush and full. There was a Marilyn Monroe-style mole above her lip that appeared to have been drawn on with some eyeliner.

"_Three…two…"_

"I can't even get a hint?" he asked incredulously. She smirked, shaking her head. Of course, she had him pegged for who he was. It was impossible not to; he was the most pale person in the room. But she didn't work with him. He didn't know who she was. She debated on whether or not to reveal herself to him, or at least hand him her name, but that would be breaking the rules of a masquerade. It was supposed to be an event shrouded in mystery. If she had wanted to make it a normal party, she would have. But this…masquerades were enchanting and alluring. There was a seductive beauty to these kinds of parties, which was evident in the way others were reacting. The beauty was that most of them probably wouldn't know who they had flirted with, saving awkwardness and trouble in the coming days.

"_One!"_

The crowd went up in raucous cheers. Standing on her tip toes, she planted a soft kiss to his lips, catching him by surprise. She pulled back, giggling at his green eyes wide in surprise. A wide grin spread across her face before she left to track down her uncle and a glass of white wine. He tried to grab after her, but missed.

"Hey!" he called out after her, as she disappeared into the crowd. "Don't I get to find out who you are?"

_**Everywhere I go…I am spellbound**_

_**Everywhere I go…I am spellbound**_

_**Everywhere I go…I am spellbound**_

_**I will break the spell you put on me**_


	3. Talking To The Walls

**Song: **Talking To The Walls **Artist: **Finger Eleven **Album: **Them vs. You vs. Me (2007) **Composer: **Finger Eleven

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><p><em><strong>No hostage has been held like I've been holding mine<strong>_

_**But I'm just fine, since I've been without you**_

The Our Mother of Heavenly Sorrow Church in Tampa, Florida was bustling for all the wrong reasons on a blustery Friday morning in December. It was a regal, two storey building, an old-fashioned white building with stained glass windows and a beautiful marble cross on top. It had a beautiful garden, with a concrete walkway that led up the front steps, lined with well-polished stones. Serene, pristine, it seemed to be the perfect place to lay her to rest.

Inside, the carpets were a deep velvety blue, the walls painted a blinding white with the old-fashioned baseboards along the bottom. Jonathan Felix Anthony Cena, thirty-four, multiple-time WWE Champion, was leaned against the enormous oak doorframe, staring into the main worship room, past the beautiful oak and red velvet pews, to the closed cherry wood casket that rested at the altar. His haggard face was crumpled in despair, every line in his face showing pure exhaustion and age, his vision blurred with hot, stinging tears.

Ahead of him, inside the worship room, past the pews, people - friends and family, all people he knew and recognized - were lined up at the altar, each of them walking past the casket, caressing the surface that was adorned with a mixture of teardrops and daffodils. Those had been her favourite flowers, so he had made sure that he had drowned out the church with them.

_**No prisoner can climb the walls that I've built up in my mind**_

_**Since I've been without you**_

None of this was supposed to happen; it was the furthest thing from what he had planned. They were supposed to get old together, have a bundle of kids, watch them grow up, get them out of the house and then retire in some pretty condo in Boca Raton. That was the plan. She had deviated from it. This was the last thing on the agenda. It left him withered and lost; he didn't know where to go, what to do. His mother Carol had offered him to go home with her, back to New Westbury to get his bearings straight, but he didn't want any of that. He wished he would just vaporize, disappear. .John wanted to follow her to the ends of the Earth, to the edge of the world where the division between Heaven and Hell began. But he couldn't do anything. He was stuck here on Earth, saying goodbye to the only woman he was sure he would ever love.

At the altar, his best friend Randy Orton turned to him from his spot in front of her casket, his heavily tattooed arms covered by a see-through white dress shirt. His right arm was draped around the shoulders of his sobbing wife Samantha, a demure brunette who was clutching tightly to his their three year-old daughter Alannah. His expression was pained; there was nothing he could say in the moment that was going to help John through what was happening, and it killed him to see one of his best friends in so much pain.

_**But I'm holding down and out**_

_**I'm desperate without you**_

For as long as he lived, John would never forget where he was when he had gotten the phone call. It was the night after _Survivor Series_, at the Wachovia Center in Philadelphia, giving his farewell address to the fans after being fired from WWE by the Nexus while she was stuck in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain, taking her last breath as the paramedics struggled to keep her breathing. A police officer by the name of Irving Whitaker had been the first responding officer on the scene, and, realizing who she was, had gotten in touch with Vince McMahon, who had promptly when to John Cena and told him he was finished with the company for the time being. In a panic, John had rushed back to his locker room, flanked by Mike Mizanin and Randy Orton. From there, he had phoned his brother, who had confirmed the horrible news.

"She's gone," Officer Dan Cena had told him, his tone drained of any kind of energy. At first, John had hardly reacted to the news, sinking into the first chair he saw. Sound seemed to fade out, and he was stuck in a zone of thick silence. He could hardly hear his brother giving him a soft, PG-version of the details. Knowing that he was in no condition to do anything, to even drive to the airport, Randy had gone to Vince, who had promptly put John on WWE's private jet and sent him back to Florida to settle all the final details that he just plain didn't want to face. Mike and Randy had driven him, offering him empty words of condolence.

_**Look at the shape I'm in, talking to the walls again**_

_**Just look at the state I'm in, bent and broken is all I've been**_

He was back in the church now, reality crashing upon him like tidal waves. John was back in the doorframe, watching his world collapse around him, and he was unable to stop any of it. Hell, he was barely able to react to it.

John jumped, startled, when a hand touched his shoulder, a soft, familiar, comforting hand. He turned to see his mother standing behind him, dressed in a black skirt suit, her greying hair tied back with a beautiful black veiled clip. She was dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex. "I'm so very sorry, honey," she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from four days worth of crying. He couldn't speak, only nodding numbly, turning his attention back to the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Eve Torres, Triple H and Stephanie McMahon were all saying their final goodbyes, Stephanie's head bowed demurely.

On the other side of the church, the choir was singing a sorrowful rendition of "Amazing Grace" while the pastor shook hands and offered spiritual words of encouragement to her grieving parents. He hadn't even spoken to him since everything had happened, and he wasn't even sure what he could say to them to make things better. All he could say, all he could think was that he should have been there. In the end, he had failed her in the worst possible way. He had failed himself, he had failed her, he had failed her family, and no words of spiritual wisdom would help him get through things.

_**No universal truth this time**_

He allowed his thoughts to browbeat him, to abuse him as he watched, face stoic, at all the supporters, friends and families that had gathered to say their final goodbyes to a woman who was truly an angel on Earth.

Outside, it was snowing again; heavy flurries with a wind chill that was cold enough to make Hell freeze over. It was the end of November, and Christmas was right around the corner. He had already gone out and bought all of her Christmas presents.

Vince had told him to take all the time off that he needed to get all the grief out. It had killed the WWE Chairman to see his top star so gutted by grief. John could tell it practically killed Vince to give him all that time off, but with being fired by Wade Barrett, it was the perfect out. He hadn't even thought of returning to the ring in the past ninety-six hours.

_**No other universe but mine could ever feel as unaligned**_

_**Since I've been without you**_

_**No instances from time to time, that I feel that things will turn out right**_

_**Since I've been without you**_

For the past few days, Randy, Samantha and Alannah had been staying with him, making sure that he had stayed taken care of, making sure that he ate and drank and slept. Randy had taken John to the hospital, where the doctor gave him some sedatives to help him sleep. He had taken to drinking whiskey, something Ric Flair had turned him onto when he had won his first WWE Championship in 2005. As much as it killed Randy to see John falling apart so drastically, he knew that John had to find his own way out of the pit of darkness somehow. For John's sake, Randy and Samantha had teamed up with John's family to set up all the arrangement, to save everybody from as much pain as humanly possible.

Today, there was no tough guy exterior, no "Never Give Up", no "Hustle, Loyalty, Respect". Today, he was nothing more than a broken shell of a man, sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand, with no way to get back to the surface. His eyes shifted to the smiling photograph to the left of the casket, her high school graduation photograph. The pastor was looking at him, debating whether or not he should approach John, but John wanted no part of him. He wasn't into the spiritual guidance, the words of wisdom, the prayers. They wouldn't solve anything. In the morning, he was still going to wake up every morning in an empty bed, in an empty house. He had to live with that every day for the rest of his life, and at the moment, he couldn't fathom why the distance was so far to the finish line.

_**But I'm holdin' down and out**_

_**I'm desperate without you**_

Her books were still on the shelf; everything from the _Twilight Saga_ to _Confessions of a Shopaholic_. Her clothes were still beside his in their dresser in the bedroom. No matter how hard it was to look at all of it, he just couldn't bring himself to box it all up and dispose of it. He couldn't erase her, not now, not ever. It just felt so, very wrong.

His head hurt; he was in dire need of some aspirin. He didn't want to think anymore, but it was all he seemed to be doing for the past few days. Slowly but surely, John was sure that he was driving himself deeper into the throes of madness, teetering ever so closely to the edge before the sleep sedative would kick in and he would find at least a couple hours of peace.

_**Look at the shape I'm in, talking to the walls again**_

_**Just look at the state I'm in**_

_**Bent and broken is all I've been**_

_**No universal truth this time**_

_**There's no universal you and I**_

_**There's no one to make me realize**_

The organ began to play at the altar as everybody made their way out of the church. A wake was going to be held at her parent's house, but John wasn't going to go. He couldn't face it; he didn't want to. The pain ripped a hole in the pit of his stomach, created a haemorrhage in his heart that he just couldn't stop. He stared down at the ring on his finger, and the grief and anxiety began to really overwhelm him. Just what was he going to do now that she was gone? How would he survive?


	4. Don't Leave Me Behind

_****_**song: **Don't Leave Me Behind **Artist: **We Are The Fallen **Album**: Tear The World Down (2010) **Composer: **We Are The Fallen

* * *

><p><em><strong>It won't go away<strong>_

_**These aching memories still dance around me**_

_**Spilling over everything with beauty**_

_**I see your face in everything before me**_

He invaded the movie set with purpose, sneaking past the patrolmen by claiming he was an extra. It was an action movie, nobody would second-guess it, not a guy his size. Six foot five, three hundred and eighteen pounds. Hell, he even had the look of an action star and a ladies man all rolled into one. He moved around the set, looking frantically for any sign of her.

It didn't matter where she was in a crowd, he could make her out. He knew it sounded crazy, but it was like she was in his very soul, a part of him that he could never truly shake off. Even though he knew he had messed up, Dave Batista still held out the hope that she would come around. Forgive him for all of his stupidity.

He thought he saw someone who looked like her, but realized quickly that it was a stunt double. The double looked a lot like her, but there were differences that were striking to Dave. If anybody found his presence on set suspicious, they didn't utter a word.

_**Your voice is haunting me, oh**_

She sat in her trailer, covering her eyes with some foundation. It had been three days, and she had been unable to stop crying. She knew she had to get herself under control; a producer would be along soon to tell her that she was needed.

Today, she didn't feel like an ass kicker. If anything, she felt defeated. Broken down. She should have been used to this kind of treatment. Perhaps that's what she got for putting her faith in Dave. Never in a million years should she have allowed him to convince her that he was different. He's not. No man is different. They all want the same thing and be damned with everybody else. She ripped a brush through her hair and fought the tears that threatened to well up behind her eyes.

She was dressed to kick ass, in a pair of stretchy blue jeans and a white sleeveless top that had some fake blood stains on it from the fight scene she had filmed in the morning. It had been a hell of a fight; she had hurt her hand in the process. She looked down at her knuckles; they were bruising. The punch she had levelled on her co-star had pretty much finished the fight. She felt just awful about the punch, but it had felt good. She just wished that Dave's face was on the other end of her fist.

_**I belong with you now**_

_**Oh, please give into me**_

_**And stay forever**_

_**Don't leave me behind**_

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

She came awake when she heard the banging on the door. Moving quickly, she was surprised to open the door and find Dave standing on the other side, panting as though he had just ran the New York marathon. A scowl crossed her face and she tried to close the door, but he put his hand in the way, keeping her from closing it fully.

"Would you just leave me alone? Haven't you done enough?" she murmured angrily under her breath. Dave pulled the door open and closed them into her trailer together.

"Can we talk?"

"Really not into it. How the hell did you get past security?"

"I look like I could be in this movie," he retorted. She couldn't argue with that logic. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the wall. He moved towards her to hug her, but she put her hand up.

"You don't get to touch me. Never again, Dave."

"I'm here to make it up to you."

"You can't. You couldn't possibly," she snapped. There was some banging on her door.

"We need you out in ten!"

"I'll be right with you!" she called back. Her eyes clashed with Dave's desperate ones. She felt like such a fool for being roped in by those desperate brown eyes.

_**So afraid of dreaming**_

_**The story is repeating, screaming**_

_**Monsters are bleeding**_

_**I'm losing light in myself**_

_**Come back into me**_

"I have to go, Dave," she replied. "I have work to do. Don't you have some flight to catch or something?" She went to leave the trailer, but he grabbed her by the crook of her elbow, turning her into him. She responded by slapping him.

"Let me go!"

"Oh, no. We're going to talk this out. And either I'm going to be here when you get back, or we're going to do this now, but we're going to settle this." She rolled her eyes.

"There's nothing to settle, you pig! Let go of me or I'll start screaming for security."

"Do your worst," he challenged.

_**Cause only you can save me**_

She left the trailer fuming. How dare he just show up on the set of her movie and keep wrecking her life! Hadn't he done enough? "Son of a bitch," she murmured. She approached her co-star, who had been seated out with a bleeding nose for the past hour. "I'm really sorry."

"It happens. Accidents happen," he said, his voice nasally from clutching his nose. She still felt terrible, though socking him had been empowering. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The director approached, clapping his hands together.

"Seems like you did a little too well in your fighting classes," he teased, flashing her a reassuring smile that did nothing to make her feel better. "How's your hand?" He took a look. "You need to go to the hospital? It looks like you may have broken a knuckle or two."

"I'm fine," she replied through gritted teeth. Her bile had turned to every male on the lot who had let Dave just waltz through security and to her trailer. What a breach; how did nobody notice his big, stupid, muscular ass walking through the lot?

"You -"

"Let's just get back to filming, okay?"

_**I belong with you now**_

_**Oh, please give into me**_

_**And stay forever**_

_**Don't leave me behind**_

Dave sat down on her couch in her trailer. He wasn't leaving. He couldn't afford to just let her slip through his fingers. He'd rather die. Crossing his arms over his chest he looked at her barren mirror that had once been littered with pictures of the two of them. Just how in the hell was he going to make things up to her?

She was angry. She was right to be angry, too. The old Dave Batista had reared his ugly head. He didn't know why it happened, either. Maybe he was just self-destructive, into destroying everything that made him happy. Why it bothered him that she was so hurt, he didn't know. Usually, he didn't really care how the other women in his life felt when he was being Dave. But he had hurt her, and he couldn't live wit himself because of it. He only knew that he had to make it right someway. Dave also knew that he needed to get her back.

_**Oh, I belong with you now**_

_**Oh, please give into me**_

_**And stay forever**_

_**Don't leave me behind**_


	5. Sick

_****_**Song: **Sick **Artist: **Bif Naked **Album: **The Promise (2009)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Face down, I woke up on the floor again<strong>_

_**Spell it out, the words I'll never say again**_

_**How can one create the mess I'm in?**_

_**Easy - happily ride in**_

Outside, the winter air was enough to chill everybody to the bone. The sky was a rich, deep cobalt, with blinking diamond stars pasted against its solid backdrop. Snow blew everywhere, coating everything in thin sheens of white and ice. Lovers and friends and family walked along the sidewalk, cupping hot chocolate and shopping bags in their gloved hands, laughing and smiling.

Inside, it was business as usual for the staff of the World Wrestling Entertainment. Alice Ackerman stood, the twenty-seven year old seamstress employed for nine years, sipping on a cup of watered down hot chocolate. After working forever fixing John Morrison's ridiculous trench coat, she had decided to take a break. Dressed down in a pair of faded blue bell-bottomed jeans, thick heeled boots and a black V-necked sweater, she looked every bit comfortable in the cold winter Canadian weather. It didn't help that she was from the area, her house located twenty minutes away in neighbouring Burnaby.

She wished Vince would get into the holiday spirit. Santa's Little Helper matches with barely dressed Divas didn't count. She looked at the stale carrot sticks and the lukewarm chicken wings with distaste; couldn't he have at least sprung for a sugar cookie? There wasn't a single string of garland anywhere, the only thing Christmas she could hear was the music blaring from the Divas locker room.

_**I feel the sky is closing in**_

_**My chest it hurts, I cannot breathe**_

_**It's blinding me, I cannot see**_

He came down the hallway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. She was so surprised she almost dropped her hot chocolate, turning away quickly in hopes that he didn't see her. Her every nerve stood on end as he approached, stopping behind her.

"Hey, I'm looking for Vince McMahon's office…oh. Hi."

They were silent, staring at one another. She stared up at the familiar blue eyes of Brock Lesnar. He had dropped about thirty pounds since leaving the WWE back in 2004, his features a little bit harder from the weight loss. He was dressed in a tight Death Clutch T-shirt that strained against his muscles and blue jeans that hung off of his lean legs. He smirked and she felt dirty. "Well…this is awkward," he said.

"No kidding."

"You're looking good. Love the brown. Better than that black shit you were experimenting with when I left." She nodded, shuddering slightly when his fingers began to play with her hair. He curled a small strand around his fingertips. "How's the head?"

"You mean from your post-_Mania_ temper tantrum? Fine. It was eight years ago." After his horrendous match with Goldberg at _WrestleMania XX_, Brock had thrown a severe tantrum backstage. Stalking through the arena, shouting about hostile fans and getting humiliated on his way out, he slammed a door. It just happened that Alice was on her way to give Molly Holly a corset when the door had opened in her face, breaking her nose in the process. It had been an absolutely miserable experience for her, recovering from the injury

"Glad to hear that."

_**You make me, you make me sick**_

_**Sick! Sick!**_

_**You make me, you make me sick**_

_**Sick! Sick! Sick!**_

"What's this?"

Alice turned around to see Randy Orton approached, dressed in his trunks and brown Apex Predator T-shirt. She hated that T-shirt; she thought it washed him out. Grabbing her by the wrist, he ushered her back behind him. Brock smirked.

"Just old friends catching up. Isn't that right, Ali?"

"I'd hardly consider you two friends," Randy replied, his eyes narrowed into beady slits. Brock took a menacing step towards Randy, and for a moment Alice was afraid that they were going to start brawling right in front of her. But Brock's snarled face softened and he just laughed, readjusting his duffel bag over his shoulder and walking down the hallway. Alice's breath had hitched; she was afraid to exhale. Randy turned to her, his blue eyes soft with concern. "What a dick. You okay?"

"What is he doing here, Randy? I thought Dana White said no to this."

"I don't know why he's here. Jesus Christ. The last thing you need. Are you okay?"

"I think so." Her hands were shaking. Randy took the hot chocolate from her hands and placed it down on the catering table. "Wow."

"I swear, you went like six shades of pale there, Alice."

"I'm all right, Randy." She shook her head, attempting to get the cobwebs out. "Did I mention I hate that shirt?"

_**Explode, happening without a pin**_

_**Broken, you're better than you've ever been**_

_**Just think you're nothing and I never win**_

_**Because you're probably my only friend**_

"You look like you saw a ghost," Julie Moore said to Alice as she returned to their little sewing area at the back of the arena. She nodded, sitting down. "Does it have to do with the Brock Lesnar sighting I just heard about." Alice sighed. "You should have reported what happened, Alice. I don't feel the least bit sorry for you."

Alice bit back her anger and grabbed some gemstones to start tacking to Alicia Fox's ring gear. At the moment, Alice was pretty sure laying on a bed of thumbtacks in Hell was better than being in her hometown for a Christmas edition of _Raw_. "What, you're not going to talk to me now?" Julie demanded with a roll of her eyes.

"I need to concentrate, Julie - could you just back off?" Julie huffed, puffed and went back to doing alterations on Eve Torres' new ring gear. Alice bit the inside of her cheek. She just wanted to scream and shout, but she kept it all in, just like she'd become good at doing. Just what in the hell was he doing back in the company?

_**You make me, you make me, you make me, sick**_

_**You make me, you make me, you make me sick**_

Randy Orton was lacing up his boots in the locker room when his friend John Cena walked in, his expression not the jovial one that John had practically trademarked. "What's this shit I'm hearing about Brock Lesnar coming back?"

"Saw him myself. He was harassing Alice again."

"Jesus Christ. He never could leave that poor woman alone, could he?"

"No, he couldn't. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf. She went Stephen pale." He looked over at Stephen Farrelly, who was lacing up his boots, a pale Irishman of over six feet in height. "No offence, man."

"None taken, fella." He was a good-natured guy; nothing ever seemed to rattle his cage. He was a relatively new Superstar, way past the Brock Lesnar era of WWE. But he had followed what had happened with Brock after his WWE departure; his failed stint with both the NFL and the CFL, along with New Japan Pro Wrestling and now the UFC. He wouldn't call himself a fan, but Brock had become one of the biggest names in the UFC. It was hard to ignore him; he was pretty much the face of the company now.

_**I feel the sky is closing in**_

_**My chest it hurts, I cannot breathe**_

_**It's blinding me, I cannot see**_

Alice walked into the Divas locker room with Eve, Kelly and Alicia's outfits all slung over her left arm. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer. AJ answered the door, a pretty young brunette who people were calling the next Mickie James. "Alice! Come in!" She opened the door wider and allowed Alice inside.

If she was looking for Christmas spirit, she wouldn't need to look any further than the Divas locker room. Green, red and vibrant violet garland was strung through the room. There was an iPod on the vanity table blaring Bing Crosby Christmas carols. "Merry Christmas, Alice!" the Divas shouted at her in unison. Alice smiled.

"I came bearing gifts." Kelly, Eve and Alicia all descended on Alice in an instant, taking what was theirs for the Santa's Little Helper match later on in the night. "Brie and Nikki made sugar cookies. You should try one - they're good," Eve said with a wink. Alice shrieked.

"Sugar cookies - you guys are my heroes!" she said to the twins, who laughed as they handed her a decorated red and green metallic tin full of iced and decorated cookies. Alice took two for the road before she had to retreat back to the seamstress area. "Thank you! You guys rock!"

_**You make me, you make me sick**_

_**Sick! Sick!**_

_**You make me, you make me sick**_

_**Sick! Sick! Sick!**_

Towards the end of the night, Alice received another visit from Randy Orton. She sighed, trying to keep her eyes averted to the sewing machine in front of her. He sat down at the table across from her, while she silently wished that he would stay away.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"The Bella Twins make great sugar cookies." He smirked.

"You always did love Christmas baking."

"It's great - I can eat at Christmas and not have LayCool leave me a trough for a present." Randy laughed. She wasn't overweight, but pretty curvy. "What do you want, Randy?"

"I'm just worried about you. You saw him and acted like you saw a fucking ghost!"

"I _did - I did - _see a fucking ghost," she replied. Randy smirked.

"Why don't you come out with the guys and I for coffee tonight after the show? Stephen was talking about going on an impromptu light tour." Alice smiled; she used to love the light tours as a kid. Driving around the different neighbourhoods and seeing the elaborate light setups. But she shook her head.

"I can't. I'm just going to head home. Grandma Deirdre's not doing so well."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. It's expected." Alice still refused to look up at him. Randy sighed. Everything and everyone around Alice always seemed to be complicated. He couldn't help but wonder way.

_**Explode, happening without a pin**_

_**Broken, you're better than you've ever been**_

_**Just think I'm nothing and I never win**_

_**Because you're probably my only friend**_

At the end of the night, she packed up her belongings, placing them in the black, purple, blue and pink sequined handbag she had made for herself. Everybody had already left. Julie had practically been the first person out the door, leaving during the main event to catch a red eye. She wanted to be in North Carolina in time to spend her Christmas holidays with her husband. Straightening up, placing the bag over her shoulder, she jumped when she spotted Brock Lesnar standing in front of her. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk. That okay?"

"I don't know if now's a good time. I'm getting ready to go home. It's been a long day."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you lived in this area."

"No you didn't."

"You're right. I didn't." He came around the table. She was already half around the other side. "I meant what I said earlier. You're looking really good. A little curvier than I remember, but it suits you well."

"Thanks."

"Why don't we go out and get a coffee or something? You busy?"

"I'm going home."

"Why don't I join you?"

"No thanks. I'm tired."

"Things work out with what's his face?" She flinched. He smirked; direct hit. He knew that it hadn't. "Why don't we try having a shot again?"

"You never had a shot to begin with," she informed him matter-of-factly, storming past him, walking down the hallway towards the parking lot. True to form, he was following right behind her.

_**You make me sick**_

_**You make me sick**_

_**You make me sick**_


	6. Through The Cracks

_****_**Song: **Through The Cracks **Artist: **Godhead **Album: **The Shadow Line (2006) **Composer: **Jason C. Miller

* * *

><p><em><strong>Forever searching within, to find a reason<strong>_

_**To be here**_

_**Can't take the nightmares away**_

_**Can't find a single word to say**_

John sat in the locker room by himself, digging through his duffel bag for his ring gear. His debut match was going to be a fatal four way for the X Division Championship. It was going to be him, Shannon Moore, Austin Aries and Jesse Sorensen. Dixie Carter and Eric Bischoff had tracked him down to tell him that he was going to win the X Division title.

Melina was off somewhere. She was mad again. Why she was mad, he didn't know. Didn't really care either. If anything, he had every right to be mad. How many years had he turned a blind eye to Melina screwing around with half the WWE roster? How many times had he convinced himself it was just dinner with friends when the reality was he was there while she was on _dates_ with his friends?

He felt like a fool. In the WWE, he had the reputation of being somebody with no spine, no guts. People joked about being whipped because Melina was always in his ear, dictating his every action, even though she staunchly denied it. Everybody was infuriated with him at _WrestleMania_. That was when he had done a baseball slide into the company doghouse and stayed there until he left on a stretcher.

_**You've captured all my fear**_

_**End this suffering, my dear - why am I here?**_

The door to his locker room opened. He looked up to see Brooke Adams there, dressed conservatively in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white sweater. Her brown hair was back in a high ponytail. John was suspicious of her presence; Brooke and Melina had some severe issues during Brooke's WWE tenure that had led to Brooke being fired over Melina. All over a pair of fuzzy boots and rumours. Melina really could be something of a bitch.

"Long time no see, John."

"Likewise, Brooke. What can I do for you?"

"Please don't be insulted. We all saw what happened out there with Melina, and I just wanted to see if you're all right." He snickered, pulling out his favourite ring pants. His eyes studied Brooke; everything from her body language to her eyes told him that she was being sincere.

"Yeah. I guess that things are going to be the same here as they were there." She approached, kneeling down beside him and putting a comforting hand over his. Her hand was warm, soft, her nails beautifully manicured.

"They don't have to be, John."

_**Walking above the shadows, I fall down**_

_**Up through the cracks, the weeds grow**_

_**To swallow me whole**_

John looked at Brooke, still unsure of whether or not to trust her. After all, she and Melina were bitter enemies. Melina had made a lot of those. Candice Michelle - who John thought was a genuinely nice girl, Mickie James - again, nice girl. Brooke flashed him a soft smile.

"I don't know about that…"

"Jesus, John, have you been putting up with this for so long that you've forgotten what it's like to _not_ have her in your ear?" John didn't answer; he didn't have to. Brooke knew everything; she had seen it first hand when she had first arrived in ECW as a member of Extreme Expose with Kelly and Layla.

"Maybe," he confessed. "Why are you taking such an interest in this? Anything to stick it to Melina?" Brooke looked offended for the first time, shaking her head vehemently.

"No! Are you kidding? My spot is secure here. I just don't want to see you fall into the same trap you were in with her in WWE. It may not hurt you as much here as it does there, but I'm thinking about John Hennigan the person, not John Hennigan the performer."

"Much appreciated, Brooke, but I think I'll be all right." Brooke sighed; stubborn bastard.

"All right, John. Just trying to be nice…"

_**And now I'm spinning in place**_

_**Can't find a way to end this race**_

_**I try to just close my eyes**_

_**Dream of another time**_

"What in the hell is this?"

Brooke turned to see Melina standing in the doorway, her brown eyes blazing. She was dressed in a black miniskirt and a slashed up red shirt that was tight across her chest, her black and blue streaked hair piled high on her head. She wore knee high heeled boots, her hand outstretched and pointing at Brooke as though she were branding her with the Scarlet Letter. "Hi, Mel," John murmured. Melina slammed the door behind her.

"What is this? On your knees in _my_ boyfriend's locker room? Glad to see you've changed since your WWE days," Melina chortled. Brooke stood, offended.

"Strong words coming from a woman who spent all of her time on her back," Brooke fired back. John suppressed a grin; it had been years since anybody had spoken to Melina like that. She was used to having everybody bend over backwards for her.

"How dare you?"

"How dare you?"

"Ladies…"

"Shut up, John!" Melina fired at him. He sat back down, sighing, running a hand through his hair.

_**You've captured all my fear**_

_**End this suffering**_

Brooke turned to John. "I'll talk to you later. Good luck out there in your match." John nodded. She went to walk towards the door and let herself out, but Melina stood in front of it.

"Oh, no - you aren't going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." In response, tired of Melina Perez in general, Brooke grabbed Melina by the shoulders and hurled her down to the locker room floor. Melina rolled onto her back, sitting up, as Brooke stared down at her from the doorframe. "I'd say that position suits you, but you know that already." Brooke left, stopping to pause and smile at the ear-shattering scream that rang in her ears from the other side of the door.

Melina in TNA. If Brooke played her cards right, she knew that there was a way that she could make this work to her advantage. After all, Melina was a star here for her WWE name recognition, but Tara and Tessmacher were the top drawing Knockouts tag team since the Beautiful People disbanded.

Brooke let herself into the TNA Knockouts locker room, where Traci Brooks was talking with Tara and Velvet Sky. Tara - real name Lisa Marie Varon - was a beautiful woman of Turkish and Russian descent, with black and red streaked hair and a body that most women her age would kill for. "There you are!" she said with a smile. "Where were you?"

"Catching up with an old friend. Wow, Melina is just as big of a bitch as I remember her being."

"I've heard all about her," Jamie - better known as Velvet Sky - said. She was a young girl who wore heavy makeup, with blonde and dark brown streaked hair. She had been a part of the Beautiful People and was one of TNA's premier Knockouts.

"Yeah. She's a touch difficult. I've heard her ego's only gotten bigger since I left." Tara shook her head. "Poor John. He's really a nice guy. I just don't get why he can't shake her off."

_**Walking above the shadows, I fall down**_

_**Up through the cracks, the weeds will grow**_

_**To swallow me whole**_

"You're not thinking of trying something with John, are you?"

Brooke and Lisa Marie were sitting in a café after an _Impact _taping, sipping on a late night coffee. Brooke shrugged. "I haven't thought about it. Someone's got to show him that there's better than Melina, though. He deserves better than a spoiled princess."

"It's got to be his mistake to make, Brooke - take it from me. I've been in that position before," she replied, sipping on her cup of java. "I agree with you, though. I saw a lot of things in the WWE locker room after you left, and quite frankly I can't believe he stood for half of the things he stood for."

"The Batista debacle was disgusting," Brooke replied. Batista had been an enormous womanizer in the WWE locker room, bedding Kelly Kelly, Rebecca DiPetro, Milena Roucka and Melina. He had even written a passage in his biography about Melina and their affair. "I really can't believe he took her back after that."

"Mike Knox, Brian Kendrick, Batista…the men's locker room really looked at John differently over everything. I have no doubt he loves her. That's why he took her back. I can't see him taking her back if he didn't love her. But she has some growing up to do."

_**As I lay beside the road**_

_**Always doing what I'm told**_

_**I feel the anger start to rise**_

_**You feel the hatred in my mind**_

John sat on the balcony of his hotel room, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea. In the morning, he would be flying back to Los Angeles with Melina, who was giving him the cold shoulder after her encounter with Brooke. She had wailed, flailed and screamed for at least a half hour before she had to go and interfere in Gail Kim's match with Winter. During that time, John had meditated to regain some sort of balance.

He thought about what Brooke had said to him. But she hated Melina - could her intentions really be good? He wasn't sure. If he had learned anything in the wrestling business, it was that nobody could ever truly be trusted. Not even his girlfriend.

Brooke Adams had thrown Melina to the ground like she was a rag doll, not even worried about what ramifications could come from it. He supposed it was a change in the atmosphere. Considering TNA wasn't as big league, people could get away with more. Maybe that's why Brooke didn't fear any consequences for manhandling his girlfriend. He couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't bothered to stand up for her.

_**Walking above the shadows, I throw you down**_

_**Up through the cracks, the weeds will grow**_

_**To swallow you whole**_


	7. Sometimes Wanna Die

_**Don't worry 'bout one thing, don't worry 'bout nothing**_

_**She said, "I'm not gonna let this one go"**_

_**Nobody's on my side, nobody seems to see how much, how deep, how far these things can be**_

"Yo, man, what's up?"

Daniel Bryan readjusted the World Heavyweight Championship over his left shoulder and turned to face his good friend Phil Brooks, who sported his WWE Championship over his right shoulder. They slapped hands with one another, ecstatic in spite of the beating Phil had just taken in his triple threat match. The two of them had become the best of friends during their days in Ring of Honor, where Daniel was considered to be one of the best professional wrestlers in the world with Phil.

"Living the dream, that's what's up," Daniel replied with a grin. "Can you believe it? Did you ever think that we were going to make it here?" Phil snorted.

"Of course I did, dumbass." Daniel rolled his eyes. Phil's bluntness was often confused with him being a dick, but it was just the way Phil was. He exuded a confidence that he felt every professional wrestler should have. Daniel was the opposite, aware of his abilities but staying humble. It didn't mean that he didn't live vicariously through Phil, however, or find any entertainment in his opinions. The beauty with Phil was he was exactly what people saw. He didn't shy away from it, either. "They better not drop the ball with you or I'll be pissed."

"You and me both. I don't really want to think about that, though. Tonight, my biggest dream came true." It had been a complete surprise to Daniel. He had arrived at the arena, unsure of whether or not he was going to appear on the pay-per-view. He'd heard whispers that champion Mark Henry was hurt, but he had just assumed it meant they were going with the Big Show for the title. Imagine his surprise when several hours before the show, Johnny Ace approached him and informed him that _he_ would be winning the championship.

_**My eyes are dry and I**_

_**My eyes are dry and**_

"So what are you up to tonight? Gonna paint the town red?" Phil asked. Daniel shook his head.

"No plans for it. Everyone seems to be banged up and tired."

"I hear Zack Ryder's going crazy."

"I like Zack and all…but no." Zack was just so over-the-top ridiculous that Daniel knew he would spend most of the night red-faced in embarrassment. "Anyway, I don't want to overshadow Zack's moment tonight. He's worked so hard for this title. He should enjoy every moment and not have me there like some douche waving a bigger title." Phil nodded, laughing.

"Fair enough. Maybe tomorrow night when I'm feeling a little better we'll go out and do something." Daniel nodded.

"Speaking of which, any word on how Ricardo Rodriguez is doing?" Phil shrugged.

"I think he's okay. Hell of a fall he took. I haven't heard anything, but I imagine the brain trust are giving him the night off tomorrow. That would probably be the best thing to do considering." Daniel nodded. "But, I will say that you, me and Ryder are all set for _Raw_ in the morning."

_**I, I- still don't even know you**_

_**I, I - still wish that I could hold you**_

_**I, I - I sometimes wanna die**_

Daniel had the most difficult time sleeping the night before, so he entered the arena for _Raw_ semi-exhausted. He had felt so giddy from having the World Heavyweight Championship that it had been downright impossible to get some rest.

John Cena approached, stopping when he caught a glimpse of Daniel's haggard, grizzled face. "Still a dream?" he cracked. Daniel smirked, nodding, readjusting his duffel bag over his shoulder. "I remember when I won my first WWE title. Greatest moment of my life, man. Congrats."

"Thanks, John. That means a lot." They slapped hands. "I still can't believe it."

"How late were you up ogling the belt for?"

"All night. How about when you won your first?"

"Not that long. Ric Flair took me out and got me fucking _blitzed_," John replied. Daniel laughed. "I remember waking up on my hotel room floor with no idea how the hell I got there. It's a mind-blower that he can still party like that at his age."

"Are you booked tonight?" Daniel asked. He had been really surprised that John didn't have a match at the pay-per-view the night before, but there was buzz going around backstage that John was burning out on top of having a bad month. Along with that, everybody backstage knew John was irritated that WWE had started putting out "Cena Sucks" T-shirts, which he felt were pretty disrespectful; after all, when people hated The Rock back in the day, Vince never okayed "Die, Rocky, Die" T-shirts. Daniel couldn't really fault John for being irritated about that.

"Yeah. I think they have me doing something with Kane now that Mark is hurt. It's good; something new." Daniel thought about it; he couldn't recall Kane and John ever feuding.

"New is always good."

"Enjoy your first night as champ," John replied with a sigh. "I got to go and track Vince. Congrats on hitting the big time. You deserve it." Daniel thanked him for his kind words before John disappeared down the hallway.

_**And everywhere I go, and everyone I see somehow almost sets me free**_

_**And the space where we meet, is different from the rest**_

_**And I just can't seem to forget that**_

Daniel dropped his bag down in his locker room, taking a deep sigh of relief. He noticed a big bouquet of white lilies, lavender and red and yellow roses sitting on a desk. "Wow…this is nice," Daniel replied. "Perk of being champ?" He walked over to the bouquet of flowers and began rifling through it for a card. "I heard it's good to be the champ, but really…?"

He found a card, in an envelope. The scent of vanilla invaded his nostrils. He didn't recognize the handwriting on the front of the envelope. Carefully, he opened the envelope and pulled out the pale pink stationary that smelled of vanilla as well. Brows furrowing, he opened the letter. It just said congratulations, from his secret admirer.

_**My eyes are dry and**_

He felt a blush stain his cheeks. Secret admirer? For him? "Oh, this is great," Daniel laughed. He wanted to go and rub this in Michael Cole's face. The announcer had never liked him, for reasons Daniel didn't understand. He went out of his way to bury Daniel on commentary, to interrupt his promos, to call him every name under the sun. What people saw in front of the cameras was what happened behind the scenes between the two of them. He thought Michael was a bloated, condescending prick; Michael thought he was a nerd and probably still a virgin. Daniel would love to wager a bet that he'd seen more tail in his day than Michael Cole has in his hundred years.

Inside he felt giddy. A secret admirer…it was so elementary school, yet so simplistically sweet. He went to the door and opened it, pulling aside a young tech by the name of Rachelle. "Hey - have you seen anybody go in my locker room?" She shook her head.

"No. But in all fairness, I've been out ringside working with the commentary stuff," she confessed. "Would you like me to ask around for you?" He thought about it for a second and shook his head.

"Nah. It's all good. Sorry to bother you."

"No worries. Congratulations."

_**I, I - still don't even know you**_

_**I, I - still wish that I could hold you**_

_**I, I - I sometimes wanna die**_

_**I sometimes wanna die**_

_**I sometimes wanna **_

After the introduction of _Raw_, where a six man tag match was set up, Phil and Daniel went back to Daniel's locker room. Phil smirked when he saw the flowers. "Who the hell left that?"

"No idea, man. Secret admirer." Phil laughed.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"I'm not lying," Daniel defended, pulling the note out of the flowers. He handed it to Phil, who read the note and began to laugh. "Don't tell me this is just you being a dick."

"Oh, I'm being a dick," Phil conceded, "but I sure in the hell didn't leave you flowers." The thought of it made Phil laugh even harder, as he doubled over, stomping his left foot. Daniel shook his head, but found himself laughing, too. The locker room door opened and Zack entered.

"Bros! What's up?" he called out. He looked ridiculous, complete with his headband and bright coloured trunks. He stopped when he saw Phil and Daniel laughing and the flowers on his desk. "What the hell, man? I didn't get any flowers!"

"That's because you don't have a secret admirer," Phil informed him, laughing. Daniel face-palmed. Zack took off his sunglasses, his eyes wide.

_**And you were at the start, and now you are the end**_

_**And you left me with nothing to defend**_

_**I need the voice of a good friend**_

Daniel was pretty sure Phil was a bad influence on _everybody_ he came into contact with. Don't let the Straight Edge stuff fool anyone, he could create just as much havoc, chaos and instigate just as many things without being drunk or high. At the moment, Zack and Phil were following Daniel around in catering, laughing at him while he sipped from a water bottle.

"You're a real dick, Phil. You, too, Zack. You're a bad influence, Philip." Phil by this point was red-faced with laughter. It wasn't that funny, everybody knew it, but Phil just enjoyed embarrassing his friends. Samoa Joe could vouch for that one.

"Me? What the hell did I do?" Zack asked in mock offence.

"I should have never let you guys in on this," Daniel retorted. Phil was still laughing at him. Daniel looked at the watch on his left wrist. "You done yet?"

"Oh, well if it isn't the nerd bunch." Daniel's shoulder slumped. Of course it had to be Michael Cole.

_**Can't stop myself from laughing no matter how sad these things can be, these things can be**_

She watched him from a corner with stars in her eyes. He had gotten her present to him. She had arranged the flowers herself, spending hours painstakingly putting it into the perfect arrangement. In spite of her best efforts, she didn't hear him say whether he liked them or not. She hoped he did.

A scowl crossed her face. Michael Cole. He was the worst kind of self-important prick backstage, and his lasers had been set on Daniel Bryan the instant he walked into the WWE as part of NXT. It always infuriated and frustrated her to hear him speak so lowly of a man who was considered to be one of the best in the world. To hear him interrupt Daniel's promos, call him a nerd, pick on him for being vegan. Seeing Daniel's shoulder slump made her wonder if Michael had finally succeeded in breaking the poor kid down.

_**My eyes are bright and**_

"What are you nerds up to?"

"Takin' care, spikin' our hair," Zack replied.

"Talking tool says what," Phil murmured.

"What?" Daniel, Phil and Zack doubled over in laughter. Michael's bloated face began to turn red. "What in the hell is your guys' problem?"

"No problem here, man," Phil assured him, draping his arm around Michael's shoulders. "You got problems?" He went to speak, but Phil pushed him away and scoffed. "What the hell am I saying? You're Michael Cole - you always have problems."

"I'm not here to speak with you," Michael informed him hotly, setting his raging brown gaze on Daniel. If his face got any redder, Daniel was pretty sure Michael was going to pass out. It had made his entire life to hear Michael Cole freak out the night before about him winning the championship. "You - I want you to know last night was a fluke. You don't mean shit here, kid - take that from me…"

"From you…the commentator?"

_**I, I - I still don't even know you**_

_**I, I - still wish that I could hold you**_

_**I, I - still don't even know you**_

_**I, I - I sometimes wanna die**_

She watched with a smile on her face as Michael got angrier and angrier. Phil and Zack seemed to enjoy riling up the veteran commentator as well. The more he ranted, raved, screamed and got red in the face, the calmer Daniel stayed. It just made him that much more hotter in her eyes. She wished she knew if he liked the bouquet, but she couldn't just come out and ask him. What would have been the point of being a secret admirer then?

_**I sometimes wanna die**_


End file.
